


Codename: Teaspoon

by Lauren (notalwaysweak)



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Multi, Skraw Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-28
Updated: 2014-12-28
Packaged: 2018-03-03 23:34:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2892218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notalwaysweak/pseuds/Lauren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If there’s a type of spoon that secretly doubles as a shiv, then Rosa Diaz is probably that spoon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Codename: Teaspoon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Muir_Wolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muir_Wolf/gifts).



Jake wakes up with his face in Rosa’s armpit, which isn’t what’s weird, although it certainly isn’t the most comfortable of positions. He attempts to roll away and Rosa growls, which is also not what’s weird; she may not present as the most cuddly person in public, but she is totally into being the big spoon in private, and God help anyone who deprives her of her little spoon. Her arm tightens around his waist and Jake opts to stay put.

What _is_ weird is that he doesn’t remember there being a third spoon in the drawer when it was closed last night, as it were, but he can feel someone pressed against him on the other side. If he is, for the sake of the current analogy, a dessert spoon to Rosa’s tablespoon, then there is a teaspoon curled up with their butt pressed against his hip and their hair brushing against his ear.

Not that Rosa is proportionately larger than him to make her a tablespoon, of course, nor is their companion considerably smaller than him, as far as he can tell without more groping than he’s strictly certain would be welcome. It’s just that he’s not exactly an expert on spoons.

Although he does vaguely remember Charles talking about a type of spoon for sieving tea leaves that also has a point on the handle for unclogging teapot spouts, and if there’s a type of spoon that secretly doubles as a shiv, then Rosa Diaz is probably that spoon.

He is, like, _way_ too sleepy for this. He can’t figure this out without coffee. But coffee is far away and Rosa doesn’t want him to move. Jake is also pretty sure that their companion (codename: Teaspoon) probably doesn’t want him to move. Either that or they want him as far away as possible. He’s not sure how much egg was nogged at the Christmas party.

_Detect, Jake. You are a detective._

There _is_ hair. That rules out the Captain, the Sarge, and Hitchcock (thank God). Jake debates whether it rules out Charles or not. A cautious sniff informs him that he should have turned his head because all he can smell is – Right Guard? Really? _Rosa_. It’s not what he expects from his grapefruit spoon. (They have more overt points, shut up.)

He turns his head and tries again and this time smells something darkly floral. Probably not Charles, highly unlikely to be Scully, and it’s not Gina because Gina has never used shampoo that smells this sensual and earthy (not like he would know or care _anyway_ ). Teaspoon’s hair smells _sexy_.

Unless Charles has made the switch from his chemical-smelling anti-dandruff concoction – unless Jake is _very_ much mistaken – the person cuddled against him, the person _in bed with him_ (and Rosa), formerly known (briefly) as Teaspoon, is none other than Amy Santiago.

This changes _everything_.

Apart from anything else, she is in no way a teaspoon.

She is, Jake decides, an absinthe spoon; pretty and sweet but also functional. A specially engraved and etched piece of silverware for a specific task, not a mere implement designed to convey instant coffee into a mug and then be dropped heedlessly into the sink.

Amy, like absinthe, is both tart and sweet; Rosa, like grapefruit, is sour but can sometimes be sweet.

Jake bans the word “sweet” from his vocabulary, since if he says it to either of their faces they’ll probably slap him, and he has thought it far too many times in the last few minutes.

“Nog,” Rosa murmurs in her sleep.

“Are you awake?” Jake says.

“ _Nog_.” Rosa pulls away from him and Jake realizes that she’s going to fall onto the floor a second too late to catch her. “ _Fuck_!”

“ _Rosa_? Are you all rig—”

Jake is facing the wrong way, but assumes that the abrupt termination of Amy’s sentence means that she has realized that Rosa is not her only bed companion.

The subsequent agony in his wrist, elbow, and spine as Amy yanks one of his arms up behind his back and socks her knee into his coccyx leads him to believe that _she_ assumes he’s someone who’s snuck into Rosa’s bedroom with less than honorable intentions.

Rosa goes from “nog” to “No, Amy, it’s okay,” remarkably quickly. “It’s okay,” she repeats. “It’s just Peralta.”

 _Just Peralta_. Fickle, shallow words for someone who has been her post-precinct-drinks-snuggle-buddy for at _least_ two months. _Just Peralta?_ _Honestly_. He opens his mouth to protest and emits an aggrieved squeak as Amy lets his arm go again, his joints turning back the other way as she scrambles off him.

“Oh, God, Jake, I’m sorry,” she says.

“He’ll live,” Rosa says, standing up and whipping a sheet around herself toga-style in one elegant movement that Jake is sure he couldn’t replicate even if he were 100% sober and also had done a few years of gymnastics.

“What did we _do_?” Amy’s hand covers her mouth.

“Drank a lot and crashed out,” Rosa summarizes.

“Is that all? I’m—” Amy notices her state of undress (which, to be honest, Jake wishes _he’d_ noticed sooner) and snatches a pillow up to hug against herself, continuing with barely a pause, “–awfully naked for just crashing out.”

“Well, after the sex.”

“What?” says Amy.

“All _three_ of us?” says Jake.

Rosa rolls her eyes. “I realize the mechanics might be beyond your usual standards, but you performed quite adequately,” she tells him. “Amy, I’m sorry, he insisted on joining us.”

“I thought we had something special,” Amy says.

 _Something special?_ “You two have – before?”

“Assuming that meaningful pause was ‘had great sex’, yes.” Rosa shimmies into her tight black jeans without dropping the sheet.

“Greater than _we_ have?”

“What do you mean, ‘than _we_ have’?” Amy asks, mimicking Jake’s inflection exactly.

“She and I have—”

“Post-precinct-drinks sex. Unless he’s on duty.”

“And when he’s on duty, I’m not, and we...” Amy says faintly. “Rosa, how _could_ you?”

Rosa looks startled. “I thought it must be all right. None of us agreed to be exclusive.” She foregoes subtlety in favor of getting her shirt buttoned as fast as she can, the sheet falling to the floor.

“None of us agreed to secretly sleep with each other behind anyone’s back, either!” Amy says, a lot less faintly.

Rosa shoves her feet into battered old Keds and hightails it out of the bedroom, evidently opting to discuss the situation later.

“You don’t deserve to be a grapefruit spoon! I’m demoting you back to tablespoon!” Jake yells after her.

Amy gives him a weird look (pretty much her default for looking at him), and shuffles carefully around the bed, keeping the pillow between them.

“This isn’t over,” she warns him.

“Great! Do you want to go out for breakfast, or shall we stay in? Charles gave me a _great_ recipe for French toast...” His offer falls on deaf ears as Amy edges out of the bedroom.

“Okay, fine, raincheck?”

The door slams.

“I can still see your butt, you know!”


End file.
